last its presence was strikingly forced upon the attention.
The moisture collected on all exposed surfaces—on the roofs, the walls, the pavements—until its quantity became sufficient to form little rills, which sought the gutters, and there gathered force and volume. Presently the streams became large enough to create a noise of flowing water that attracted the attention of the anxious watchers at the open windows. Then cries of dismay arose. If the water had been visible it would not have been terrible.
But, to the overstrained imagination, the bubbling and splashing sound that came out of the darkness was magnified into the rush of a torrent. It seemed to grow louder every moment. What was but a murmur on the ear-drum became a roar in the excited brain-cells.
Once more were heard the ominous word, "The flood!"
Panic spread from room to room, and from house to house. The wild scenes that had attended the first awakening were tame in comparison with what now occurred. Self-control, reason—everything—gave way to panic.
If they could have seen what they were about!
But then they would not have been about it. Then their reason would not have been dethroned.
Darkness is the microscope of the imagination, and it magnifies a million times!
Some timorously descended their doorsteps, and feeling a current of water in the gutter, recoiled with cries of horror, as if they had slipped down the bank of a flooded river. As they retreated they believed that the water was rising at their heels.
Others made their way to the roofs, persuaded that the flood was already inundating the basements and the lower stories of their dwellings.
Women wrung their hands and wept, and children cried, and men pushed and stumbled about, and shouted, and would have done something if only they could have seen what to do. That was the pity of it! It was as if the world had been stricken blind, and then the trump of an archangel had sounded, crying:
"Fly! Fly! for the Avenger is on your heels!"
How could they fly?
This awful strain could not have lasted. It would have needed no deluge to finish New York if that maddening pall of darkness had remained unbroken a few hours longer. But, just when thousands had given up in despair, there came a rapid change.
At the hour of noon light suddenly broke overhead. Beginning in a round patch enclosed in an iridescent halo, it spread swiftly, seeming to melt its way down through the thick, dark mass that choked the air, and in less than fifteen minutes New York and all its surroundings emerged into the golden light of noonday.
People who had expected at any moment to feel the water pitilessly rising about them looked out of their windows, and were astonished to see only tiny rivulets which were already shriveling out of sight in the gutters. In a few minutes there was no running water left, although the dampness on the walls and walks showed how great the humidity of the air had been.
At the same time the oppression was lifted from the respiratory apparatus, and everybody breathed freely once more, and felt courage returning with each respiration.
The whole great city seemed to utter a vast sigh of relief.
And then its voice was heard, as it had never been heard before, rising higher and louder every moment. It was the first time that morning had ever broken at midday.
The streets became filled, with magical quickness, by hundreds of thousands, who chattered, and shouted, and laughed, and shook hands, and asked questions, and told their experiences, and demanded if anybody had ever heard of such a thing before, and wondered what it could have been, and what it meant, and whether it would come back again.
Telephones of all kinds were kept constantly busy. Women called up their friends, and talked hysterically; men called up their associates and partners, and tried to talk business.
There was a rush for the Elevated, for the Subways, for the street auto-cars. The great arteries of traffic became jammed, and the noise rose louder and louder.
Belated aero-expresses arrived at the towers from East and West, and their passengers hurried down to join the excited multitudes below.
In an incredibly brief time the newsboys were out with extras. Then everybody read with the utmost avidity what everybody knew already.
But before many hours passed there was real news, come by radio, and by submarine telephone and telegraph, telling bow the whole world had been swept by the marvelous cloak of darkness.
In Europe it had arrived during the morning hours; in Asia during the afternoon.
The phenomenon had varied in different places. In some the darkness had not been complete, but everywhere it was accompanied by extraordinary humidity, and occasionally by brief but torrential rains. The terror had been universal, and all believed that it was the Third Sign predicted by Cosmo Versál.
Of course, the latter was interviewed, and ha gave out a characteristic manifesto.
"One of the outlying spirals of the nebula has struck the earth," he said. But do not be deceived. It is nothing in comparison with what is coming. And it is the last warning that will be given! You have obstinately shut your eyes to the truth, and you have thrown away your lives!"
This, together with the recent awful experience, produced a great effect. Those who had begun to lay foundations for arks thought of resuming the work. Those who had before sought places with Cosmo called him up by telephone. But only the voice of Joseph Smith answered, and his words were not reassuring.
"Mr. Versál," he said, "directs me to say that at present he will allot no places. He is considering whom he will take."
The recipients of this reply looked very blank. But at last one of them, a well-known broker in Wall Street, was more angered than frightened:
